


Home Sweet Home?

by ElizaGolightly



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaGolightly/pseuds/ElizaGolightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only when she’s raking through old towels and sheets that it hits her like a punch in the chest: why can’t he sleep on his ship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Sweet Home?

_You ready, Swan?_

For the longest time, Emma doesn't think of the circumstances around her memories returning or how her return to Storybrooke came to be. Life is hectic and loud, everyone wants a piece of her when she arrives at her old apartment and with each memory returning drip by slow drip into her brain she can’t fathom anything other than the basics. Hook brings a half-asleep Henry to the loft a short while after she left them together, but he’s gone as quickly as he came with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder and a casual “Goodnight, Swan.”

The old routines return, the investigations into new threats begin and she feels like she barely has a second to breathe. It’s only when she comes home late one night to find David and Hook sat in the kitchen discussing something about ships and old enemies that the cogs begin to turn. Hook flashes her a smile she’s come to recognise as belonging to her, and it warms her a little to see it. She holds her hand up in a lazy wave and heads to the fridge for a snack, starving after a long day.

“Hook’s going to sleep on the couch tonight, Emma.” David says suddenly, watching her carefully. She turns from the fridge with a bowl and a mouthful of cold pasta, a frown crossing her brow. Hook keeps his head down, playing with a speck of something on the counter. She swallows and looks between them slowly.

“Okay.” She says finally, quietly. “Do you want me to find some sheets?”

David nods gratefully but she can swear that Hook is deliberately avoiding her gaze. She puts the bowl of pasta down and sets off for the linen closet. It’s only when she’s raking through old towels and sheets that it hits her like a punch in the chest: why can’t he sleep on his ship?

She sets up the couch and asks David when Hook goes to the bathroom. “It’s not here. He looked for it but I guess it didn’t make it over.” He says with a shrug.

Hook returns once David has gone to bed, but she’s still standing there watching him carefully. There are so many questions…

“You know you can stay as long as you need?” She settles on instead. He scratches the back of his head and schools his features into his usual mischievous expression.

“Do my sleeping arrangements improve the longer I stay?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow and smirking. Always smirking.

Emma rolls her eyes and shoves him playfully as she walks past him to go upstairs into her room. “Goodnight, Hook.”

* * *

“How come your ship didn’t make it over?” She blurts out one day in the Sheriff’s office.

He’s been at the loft for a couple of weeks now. He’s no trouble, if anything he’s extra helpful, but her curiosity was getting the better of her.

“Getting tired of me already, love?” He asks playfully, but she can see that the answer worries him.

“Naturally. It’s just the worst having you around. All the cooking you do, the constantly replenished liquor supply and don’t get me started on the cleaning. It’s awful.” She grins at him and takes a sip of her coffee.

“Very funny, Swan.” He rolls his eyes and goes back to toying with the end of his hook.

She watches him a while, wonders if he thinks she’ll let it go. “ _You’re something of an open book_ ” she remembers and lets the notion go. Of course he knows he’s not been let off that easy. It just doesn’t make any sense to her. Why wouldn’t his ship be here? It’s his home, it’s where he keeps _everything_. He must have memories there, a lifetime in Neverland and a longer one of piracy. It couldn’t just vanish.

“But seriously, where is it?” She pushes this time.

He looks at her for what feels like forever, and sits upright in his chair. He leans forward not losing eye contact and eyes her carefully. “It’s gone, love.” He says quietly. “Someone else has it.”

She’s stunned.

So she nods slowly and pretends to turn back to her work. His gaze lingers on her and she can feel it crawling all over her side, daring her to look back at him. For the rest of the day it’s an itch she just can’t reach and a distraction in her brain.

And yet she doesn’t look. They leave the office at the end of the day and walk home, together. If he brushes her hand with his en route, then she tells herself she hasn’t noticed.

* * *

 

Emma can hear David and Hook talking, more nonsensical discussions about potential threats to Storybrooke, Emma, the Witch…  they’re in the kitchen and unaware that she’s perched at the top of the stairs eavesdropping.

It’s not like she meant to. It’s not her fault if they’re having secret meetings at midnight and she can’t sleep. She’s clearly not invited so where else should she go? …or at least that’s how she justifies it to herself.

“…she’s not coming back now, mate.” Hook says wearily, taking a sip of his rum.

“There must be a way.” David says mustering up the hopeful spirit that he has become so attributed to.

“I wouldn’t want to try. I gave her up for the potion that restored Emma’s memories. If I tried to get the Jolly back now I dread to think what the consequences would be.” Hook says sincerely, sighing.

Emma slaps her hand across her mouth to stop her gasp being heard. She never – she never even suspected – why would he sacrifice so much? She decides she needs to leave before she hears anything else and attempts to stand up quietly. The stair she has been perched on creaks but David is the only one to turn around and see her. He smiles at her sadly, Emma’s hand still covering her mouth and eyes wide with an emotion she can’t even recognise. Hook begins to speak again and as soon as David turns back to him, she darts for her bed as quietly as she can.

She thinks of sleep and wishes for it but her thoughts are a mile a minute.

* * *

 

Neal arrives one day to return Henry’s coat but that’s not all he is there for. A litany of false promises disguised by beautiful words fall from his mouth, everything she’s ever wanted to hear but can never believe. Not from him.

She barely has a chance for her brain to register everything that has just been said until his lips are upon hers and it feels _so_ wrong. His hand cupping her elbow as he leans forward feels possessive and desperate, his lips bruising, begging for a response. It’s a surprise that she only thinks one thing, as she stands with her eyes wide open and body shocked rigid into place.

It feels like cheating, she thinks to herself.

It’s not. Of course it’s not. She hasn’t had a conversation about anything that wasn’t Henry or the Witch since she returned to Storybrooke. There’s been no conversation, no pledges of commitment to _anyone_ , no promise of something more. But she knows so much.

She can’t shrug the notion off of betraying _Hook_  as Neal tries his hardest to make her want him, to pick him.

“This isn’t working.” She whispers as she pulls away and makes a point of taking an extra step back. “I can’t do this again.”

“Emma-” He starts, trying to reach out again.

“Thank you for dropping Henry’s coat back.” She says, a little stronger this time.

“We should talk about this.” Neal says.

“No, no you should leave.”

“Emma, please-”

“When have you ever sacrificed anything for me? When did you ever do anything entirely selfless just to ensure _I_ was okay?” She asks directly without anger, interrupting with a question that had been at the forefront of her mind since he arrived in the loft.

“Emma?” He asks, laughing nervously. “What’s this about? Is it Hook?”

It hits her straight in the chest, a jolt of electricity at the mere mention of his name. Especially now she understands, even more so after Neal’s disappointing response.

“Is what Hook?” She tries to play it off casually but even she’s on the verge of laughing with how unconvincing she sounds.

Neal smirks knowingly and shakes his head. “Nothing.” He says bitterly, and leaves without another word.

* * *

 

“You gave her up for me, didn’t you?” Emma asks, taking a seat next to Hook on the edge of the docks. She closes her eyes and basks in the silence for a moment. All she can hear is his breathing, suddenly a little faster, and the sound of the water below moving slowly. The leather of his coat creaks as he brings his hand to rub his eyes a little before looking at her curiously.

“What makes you say that, love?” Hook queries.

“You don’t have to say it, but I know it’s true. I heard you talking to David the other day.” She says simply, resting her hand in the gap between them, watching his for any sign or acknowledgement of what she is trying to say.

He sits in silence for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. He chuckles to himself in defeat but still keeps his distance. “Aye, lass. When it came down to it there was no question. She’s just a ship. What is that when compared to your safety?”

Emma only nods. She looks out to sea and watches the gently waves move across and past them. She’s nervous, butterflies are tumbling around her stomach and for the first time she doesn’t really have anything to say. Although she knew, having it confirmed is _terrifying_. She wipes away a stray tear from being utterly overwhelmed and takes a deep breath.

“I have to say, Swan, I didn’t realise you cared about her so much.” Hook teases, nudging her gently with his shoulder but still carefully avoiding her hand.

“I know how much she means – meant – to you. She was your home, Killian. That can’t have been an easy choice to make and I just want you to know how grateful I am that you made it.” She spits it all out before she regrets it, so used to the lies around Henry that she doesn’t even notice what she’s called him.

“Don’t fret about it, love. Your couch is almost a suitable replacement.” He smirks and she chuckles slightly.

“Perhaps it’s time for an upgrade.” She says quietly, finally reaching over and taking his resting hand into her own.

“Emma?” Hook asks carefully turning to look at her with a slight frown. He must be so confused, she thinks. She remembers all the times she’s rolled her eyes, refused to acknowledge everything he was telling her, everything he would throw into her court that she never played back. So much time wasted with ignorance and a refusal to understand that she can have this life if she wants it, and that if anyone is going to understand the ongoing burden of being the Saviour, it’s the man sitting next to her.

Not wanting to waste any more time, with who knows what threats on the horizon, she squeezes his hand hard and reaches over with her other to just brush the side of his face. She leans forward and gently presses her lips to his, a stark contrast to her last kiss but so much more in every way. He takes a sharp breath before relaxing slightly and hesitantly kissing her back.

It’s not the charged affair she had often imagined with all the flirtation over recent weeks, nor is it as spontaneous or heated as the event in Neverland. It’s simple, sweet and oh-so-necessary. It’s perfect.

Hook pulls away first, resting his forehead against hers and laughing quietly under his breath.

“What’s so funny?” Emma asks quietly.

“Just wondering why we haven’t been doing that since I saved you from yourself, love. It would only have been fair, to show proper gratitude and all.” He laughs, pulling away properly and helping her up.

She rolls her eyes and can’t help but feel as though nothing has changed. This isn’t a beginning, it’s a continuation. It felt like cheating with Neal because she’s been with Hook – no, Killian, she supposes – ever since he found her. The kiss? The kiss is just a progression of a relationship that has been there all along no matter how much she wanted to tell herself that it wasn’t so, no matter how many times she shook her head at him or walked away with some smart comment.

“Shut up, pirate.” She says, pushing him away from her. He catches her hand and pulls her in close to his side as they walk back to the town.

“Come now, lass. That’s hardly fair. Not much of a pirate without my ship, am I?” He teases.

“Oh, god. Don’t.” Emma pleads, pressing a hand to her forehead to try and erase the awful pit in stomach with the thought of all he had lost. It slowly ebbs away though, the discomfort of acknowledging all he had done soon passes as he laughs and kisses her on the top of her head.

She knows then that he is home. She knows that _she_ is his home.

 


End file.
